


Observe and Report

by FrostbitePanda



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dragonstone, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Missing Scene, One Shot, Short, Tumblr Prompt, You know what I mean, basically the magic hour, i guess, jon snow is too precious for this world, our girl protecting our girl, post 'beyond the wall' and pre 'the dragon and the wolf', soft bitches beware, the liminal space i crave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 07:31:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17279705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrostbitePanda/pseuds/FrostbitePanda
Summary: Missandei was sure to keep a close eye on him all the same. As the weeks passed, she increased her scrutiny, as she sensed the tension between her queen and her strange visitor ratcheting up. Being an advisor and translator to powerful people for so long, Missandei had become quite adept at observing.(prompt request from tumblr. one-shot.)





	Observe and Report

**Author's Note:**

> the prompt was: "you're in love with her."

Her queen had had many suitors over the years. 

 

Some had been simply profane and stupid (the ill-fated captain of the Second Sons, Mero), some thoroughly milquetoast yet politically astute (the most honorable Great Master Hizdahr zo loraq), and others that may have been more dangerous and delightful, but perhaps too full of themselves for their own good (or the queen’s).

 

But none of them were even comparable to the dark, comely man from the North who stalked about Dragonstone with a quizzical brow. 

 

The largest point of contrast being that he was perhaps one of the few (only?) men who had ever come before Daenerys Targaryen, the Dragon Queen and Breaker of Chains, who pointedly had not postulated marriage-- in a flirty jest, crass jape, or otherwise. 

 

“I suspect him to be some bearded wild man with bones in his hair,” Daenerys had muttered into the lip of her wine glass the evening Tyrion had sent the raven to Winterfell. 

 

“Is that the custom in the North?” Missandei had asked, genuinely curious. 

 

Daenerys had blinked, taken a bit off guard. “I don’t rightly know,” she had said with a creased brow. “I don’t know anything of the North.”

 

The arrival of Jon Snow and his company had done little to reveal much more of the North’s secrets, she (and her queen, she suspected) came to find. 

 

The chambermaids and servants had all swooned and tittered the first few days, trading tips on how best to seduce the prickly King in the North over their evening stew and bread. After a week, the lavacious gossip had cooled-- it seemed that Jon Snow was not an easy lock to pick. 

 

Missandei was sure to keep a close eye on him all the same. As the weeks passed, she increased her scrutiny, as she sensed the tension between her queen and her strange visitor ratcheting up. Being an advisor and translator to powerful people for so long, Missandei had become quite adept at observing. 

 

Like observing how Jon Snow’s hands seemed to clench up when he was around Daenerys, or how Daenerys always pulled at her bodice, the ends of her sleeves. The dazed, wide-eyed looks they exchanged when running into each unexpectedly around the castle. The secret, furtive smiles traded over supper. 

 

Or when her queen had made a wild flight to an unknown realm with all of her sons at her side. She had gone into battle with only one, but one son was not enough when Jon Snow’s life was on the line. 

 

Or when Jon Snow surprised Missandei in the War Room, a few days after he and the queen had returned from their ill-fated trek to the end of the world. 

 

Normally, she would have been suspicious. Most men hanging back after a council to catch her alone as she gathered up parchments and scrolls would have had very specific intentions and not much else. But, she was confident that she knew the man well enough to not feel threatened, as stoic as he could be sometimes (though not so much lately). 

 

He cleared his throat, plainly nervous. “My lady,” he said with an awkward bow. 

 

“My lord,” she returned, just a bit more gracefully. “What can I do for you?”

 

He glanced around the room, ensuring their privacy. “I need to… ask a favor of you.”

 

Now she was truly curious. “Of course, my lord.”

 

“I know that you must be very busy, assisting the queen as you do…” He paused, licking his lips and looked to the floor, “but if you could spare an hour or so of your day, I’d like to… well, I would like to learn the tongue of the Dothraki.” He fiddled with his belt before pulling out a small pouch and offering it to her. 

 

When she took it (slowly, as she was a bit stunned), it was heavy, metal scraping and shifting under her fingers through the leather. 

 

“I’m not sure how much that is, or how many lessons that gets me, but--”

 

“You’re paying me?” she cut across him, a bit too bewildered to consider the fact that she was addressing a guest-- and a royal one at that. 

 

He blinked at her. He really was handsome, befuddled and pale in the gray light that suffused the dreary room. “Well… yes.”

 

She wanted to refuse, to pass the satchel that was entirely too heavy back to him, ensure him that her language services were available to her queen’s guest free of charge, but she had the not so small suspicion that he would hear none of it. She tucked the lacings of the purse under belt. “You wish to learn Dothraki?” 

 

He nodded, looking a bit relieved. 

 

“Why?”

 

He relief transformed to confusion. “Well, because…” His brow furrowed ever deeper as he considered. “Did the queen not--” he stopped short, biting his lip and looking to the floor, troubled. 

 

“Are you and the queen engaged?” she asked innocently. She really couldn’t think of any other reason he would want to learn the language of Daenerys’ horde. They were perhaps her fiercest supporters and deadliest weapon, to be sure, but they did not take well to outsiders and outsiders typically did not take well to them. 

 

Jon Snow somehow grew paler, eyes wide and unblinking as he worked himself from his seeming mortification. Finally, he shook his head. “No.” He cleared his throat hard and Missandei noticed that his ears were pink. “No, not that.” He stood up straighter. “I bent the knee.”

 

Missandei gasped. “That is wonderful news, my lord.” 

 

He nodded, folding his hands behind his back, a brightness sparking in his eyes and a twitch at the corner of his lips betraying him as good as if he wore a sign. “Aye, so, I feel that it is my duty to learn the tongue of my queen’s allies.” He laughed quietly. “And because I’d like to buy a horse, but I don’t want to insult a man with an...  _ aroch _ or be swindled by one.” 

 

“ _ Arakh _ ,” she corrected gently. 

 

“ _ Arakh _ ,” he repeated as he smiled, spreading his hands. “See? I’m hopeless.”

 

She watched him for a moment, pondering. Why would her queen not tell her such happy news? That the one thing she had been striving for had finally been attained? 

 

There were only two reasons Missandei could think of for her queen’s reticence on this subject, and one was exceedingly remote: that Jon Snow had somehow proven himself to be an undesirable ally.

 

No, there was really only one explanation. Jon Snow had proven himself to be something  _ more _ than an ally. 

 

“So, my lady,” Jon began, the silence and scrutiny obviously weighing on him entirely too much. “When shall we--”

 

“You’re in love with her.” 

 

At first, she didn’t think she had said it out loud, that she had simply come to the conclusion within the security of her own mind. 

 

But, from the stricken look on Jon’s face, that had certainly not been the case. 

 

“My lord,” she began, aghast, her hand flying to her traitorous mouth. “I’m so sorry. I--”

 

“No,” he cut across her, shaking his head once, eyes downcast. “No, don’t be sorry. It’s nothing--”

 

“I should not have spoken so boldly.”

 

He looked back up at her, clearly confused. “Is it so bold to voice the truth?”

 

She hesitated, a bit taken aback, before softening, her shoulders relaxing as she bit back a smile. It was her turn to look to the floor. Who could be better for her queen? Her best friend? This strange, cloistered young man made of rigid honor and fierce, often dangerous passions.

 

And Daenerys, made of bitter steel and brittle vellum all at once, guarded and cold in her acceptance of her one, immutable truth: that she was ill-fashioned for love and would never know it truly. 

 

The world may be ending around them, but Missandei could not think it more perfect in that moment.

 

“I suppose,” Missandei began after she had gathered her wits. “That you should probably learn Valyrian as well. That is what the Unsullied speak. And the queen does love Valyrian poetry.” 

 

Jon Snow smiled. Missandei was not sure she had ever seen him smile so fully before. She knew that the man was not yet thirty, but he had simply seemed older than his years in all the time she had spent in his company. Now, he looked like the young king he was and she felt her heart soar for her friend. For Daenerys, the woman she had stood by for years, through wastelands and stormy seas, because Daenerys Targaryen was worth those things and more. 

 

Something told Missandei that Jon Snow knew this now, too. 

 

“Aye, my lady,” he said with a nod, the smile still persisting on his face. “I suppose that Valyrian would indeed prove useful.” 

 

“Well, my lord Snow, we best get to work.” 

**Author's Note:**

> whoever you were anon, i hope you like it! and you as well my lovelies!
> 
> i had to take somewhat of a sabbatical for health reasons and now i'm back! to get those creative juices flowing again, i requested prompts on tumblr, and this one of them. i'll be back to the ole fic grindstone soon, don't worry. :)
> 
> thank you so much to justwanderingneverlost for that lovely moodboard. she's a genius that can work at the drop of a hat!
> 
> let me know what ya think! unbetaed. <3


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